


Tears

by cookiethewriter



Series: blue eyes and a heartbeat [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, I am shameless, M/M, Mild Smut, also I wrote this instead of sleeping like a normal human, also this is AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never want to see tears streak down your best friend’s face. It’s a well-known fact. In fact, in the eyes of Roman Reigns, it should be downright TABOO for the fucking things to be there in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the span of a few hours, and while I can say I'm really proud of how it turned out, I regret those few hours to be between 1 - 5am. (I wouldn't have regretted it so much if I wasn't woken up by a barking pupper with a full bladder at like, 7:30)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

You never want to see tears streak down your best friend's face. It's a well-known fact - in fact, in the eyes of Roman Reigns it was downright  _taboo_ for the fucking things to be there in the first place.

But, here he is: sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows propped up on his knees and hands pressed together over his mouth as he watches his best friend pace around the hotel room, throwing his hands up and yelling and punching and  _crying_ because they guy he'd been seeing, had started to  _fall in love with_ , decided that what Dean could offer him wasn't enough. Had never  _been_ enough and he crawled into bed with his mother's business partner's son, some cream-puff named Orton.

Dean's been at it for about an hour now, but this time the words coming out of his mouth are lost in the broken sobs that wrack his body, and even so Roman knows what he is saying. 

_Seth fucking betrayed me._

_Thought I fuckin' loved him._

_Fucking scumbag, fuck him, fuck Randy fucking Orton._

_Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me._

They had been together since high school ... a feat that Roman had found damn-near  _amazing,_ and he had been around for the entire ride; he had met Dean in elementary school, some quiet and destructive and self-deprecating with bruises and messy light hair and pretty blue eyes. They never spoke, not out loud, not 'til middle school. Not words, anyway. Roman sat near him, never too close, never scooting toward him. Just sat there. 

A few times he packed himself a second sandwich, because sometimes Dean didn't have a lunch with him, or anything really, and Roman would hand him the food without a word and dig into his own lunch.

(That was the first time Dean even acknowledged him, eyes big and questioning and beautifully astonished.)

...

Through the rest of their early childhoods, Roman couldn't be seen anywhere without Dean. It was just the way it happened, and he certainly wasn't complaining. A few times, Dean's fingers - never having enough warmth to grasp tight, a slight touch, always hovering even when they touched warm, tanned skin - grasped his sweatshirt, hardly saying a word but always looking the Samoan right in the eye when they looked at each other. 

His eyes had always been so expressive; more expressive than the rest of him, though not more so than his fists. 

Middle school was when Dean started talking to him, started letting him get closer, letting him in a little bit. 

High school was when they really got close - they went from strangers to a little more than, to brothers. They went to each other's houses for entire weekends and hardly spent time apart.

Until Seth Rollins moved to town.

...

Dean and Seth started dating perhaps a month later. 

They fought a lot, but never  _really_ about anything serious. Dean was a person who took things personally, to heart, because the damn thing was tattooed on his sleeve despite what he liked to believe. It was easy to hurt him, too easy, and all it took was a few words to make him curl in on himself and shut the world out. 

(Roman sometimes found his best friend drinking his way through a six-pack or two, but never left him, never scolded him or made him feel worse. Only kicked the bottles away, plucking whatever was in his hands out of them and wrapped him up in his arms, brushing the hair out of his buzz-flushed face and dropping kisses to his forehead because  _You're alright, babe, you're alright._ )

The first real fight happened in front of Roman. But the firsts didn't stop there.

It also happened to be the first time he'd actually  _seen_ Dean cry.

It started off so small - the three of them had been hanging out when Seth had suggested they go for ice cream, the rest of the party quickly agreeing. Dean had jokingly -  _baby, I was just kidding, c'mon_ \- said that he'd forgotten his wallet, so  _guess you'll have to wash the dishes._ Roman had laughed, because his father said that to the two of them when they went out to eat, but Seth ... he took great offense. 

_"These hands were not meant to wash dishes, Dean. How could you forget your damn wallet!"_

But it became more than that, continued escalating around Dean's feeble tries at calming down his annoyed boyfriend,  _"How could you be so damn irresponsible! God, I'm sick of picking up your slack all the time!"_

Seth continued to berate, and Dean retracted, the playful grin receding to a dejected frown before he plucked out his ratty leather wallet,  _"I fuckin' had it, I was joking, can't you take a joke?"_ And they were off. 

And Roman  _swore_ he saw this ...  _look_ pass through Seth's chocolate-brown eyes, one of violence, like he wanted to raise his hand to Dean for his childishness, but instead ended up pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing out  _"I swear, I just can't take you sometimes."_

And after that it grew quiet. Dean didn't even look at anywhere but the ground until after Seth kissed his forehead in farewell a while later, distinctly ignoring the way his body twitched away from the affectionate touch. Roman led him in the direction of their houses, arm carefully wrapped around his back as if the other couldn't move on his own. 

Dean didn't flinch away. In fact, he moved in closer, and when the Samoan dipped his head low to try to find his eyes, he sees this thin ribbon of sheen on his best friend's face and he stops their walking, picking up the other's face with both of his hands and he can see how red and puffy and wet his eyes are, his very core emanating the same as the color of his eyes and Roman's thumbs get to work wiping it all away, tracing Dean's light eyelashes because this isn't something he likes seeing on his face: hurt. Sorrow. Guilt.

After that, though, things got better between Dean and Seth.

After  _that_ , Dean stopped hanging out with Roman. 

And that  _hurt._

They remained friends, of  _course_ they did, because they were the closest thing to  _soulmate._ Texting, sometimes even e-mail when Dean dragged his ass onto a computer, and lunchtime were about the only times they got to see each other, but Dean was always staring at him almost ...  _longingly_ from the table where Seth sat, laughing with his baseball buddies.

Roman started football in the fall of their senior year.

Seth had also tried out for the team, but only managed to make it because his father was the coach, and that meant that Dean went to every home game, cheering his two boys in a loud and obnoxious display that made Roman laugh and Seth roll his eyes. 

That's when Roman first suspected something was ... different.

Their football team had more wins than losses the entire year, which was reason enough for them to celebrate at the end of the season at the pizza parlor that barely fit them all. Roman was named MVP, and Dean jumped on his back with his arm wrapped around his neck and screamed  _"That's my boy!"_ and everybody laughed. Everyone but Seth, who sulked, every so often staring off into space before catching sight of a face at the far end of the place.

Roman never saw him. But Dean confirmed that it had been Randy at the time. 

...

They went to separate colleges. Roman moved to Georgia on a football scholarship and Seth - and Dean, because he got insulted when Dean asked how Georgia Tech was  _once_ and said he missed him - went to some prestigious college on the West Coast to study business.

Dean ended up working multiple jobs, he'd confessed to Roman one night on one of his many short visits to Dean and Seth's apartment, both needing the distracted and  _money to keep a place to keep us dry, since Princess' too busy with school and shit to work._

There was once that Dean - with Seth in tow, brooding as usual - surprised Roman at one of his footballs, but they hadn't had a chance to actually see each other face to face yet because, halfway through the game, Roman got injured by a tackle that ended with his leg bent in an awkward angle. He required a guy on either side to help him get to the locker room.

Roman didn't feel that ashamed when he sobbed as he cleared out his locker after the game - they lost - both from the throb of his body and the throb of his heart when Coach told him he couldn't play the rest of the season. 'As a precaution' he said,  _you understand, Reigns,_ he said.

Dean had run so fast into that locker room with matching tears in the corners of his eyes, his lungs on fire but his heart clenched in all the wrong ways.  _"I'm so sorry Rome, you were so good, don't you fuckin' cry anymore or else I'm gonna start, Big Dog, c'mon--"_

Roman graduated a few years later and made hasty work of packing all that he could from his dorm room and booking it to the West Coast, into the waiting arms of Dean and a less irate, more tired Seth. He stayed with them for a while, helped them pay rent by taking up a job typing up records in an office somewhere until Seth graduated from business school, and then he said that he missed his little beach hometown, and Dean looked at Seth, pleading, eager to please but wishing,  _just once_ , to be pleased. 

And, a couple weeks later when Dean hugs Roman goodbye from the airport, he says he wished he could come, really wants to, but Seth wants to stay and it breaks Roman's heart at the look in his best friend's eyes. 

He cancels his flight, one hand still wrapped around Dean's shoulders, uses the money from his ticket to buy a hotel room, and he mutters  _"Ain't a chance in hell I'm leavin' you alone, babe."_

And there's no faking the look in Dean's eyes, the relief and the love and reassured lift of his shoulders as they walk out of the airport, linked arms and matching smiles as Dean talks animatedly about 'sleepovers together and closing bars together and watching gut-bustingly funny movies together until they puke'. 

Oh my.

...

Dean and Seth's seventh anniversary. That's where everything goes wrong, blows up in the former's face and tears him up. 

Dean had planned this dinner for the two of them - nothing fancy, no fanfare, just quiet and them and  _he had put so much effort into it._ He picked up Seth's favorite entree from this Italian restaurant they went to once, and he even went so far as to set up a candle-lit table and plate the food before he dug around in his jacket pocket - that good old leather jacket that he just couldn't get rid of, no matter how worn it was - for the little velvet box and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he heard a soft sound emanating from their bedroom. 

Music? A groan? Since when did Seth listen to R&B while he worked out?

Following the sound into their bedroom, he opens the door - left eerily ajar - with his sock-clad foot and calls out "Seeeee--  _Seth, what the fuck are you doing?!"_

Laying on his back for  _Randy fucking Orton_ and moaning his name like it was a prayer on his lips, on  _their_ bed in  _their_ apartment  ** _on their anniversary._**

...

And that leads them here, to Roman's hotel room. 

The pacing slows to a swaying rock as Dean finally loses steam, lightheaded from all that had happened, the crying and the movement and the talking and he pants slightly, wiping at his face with a wet snort before he flails his arms, frustrated at himself. 

Roman stands up and walks toward him, his arms partially open before the light-haired just curls into him, his voice raw, like he'd swallowed shards of glass and it burns in the same way as he utters a dry sob, cried out but hurting no less. "Rome, I was gonna ask him to ma-marry me. I  _loved_ him and he-- mm..."

"Hey now," rubbing his cheek atop the sweat-soaked tresses atop Dean's head, lips ghosting over his scalp, Roman speaks softly. And Dean's cheek rubs on his shoulder as he sniffles again. "Baby boy, this is  _not_ because of you. This isn't your fault, you  _know_ that, right? You gave everything you had, loved with all you got, and- hey, hey don't start again, you're okay, Deano, c'mon--" he shushes gently, arms wrapping tighter around him, steadying his best friend as his body shakes with the effort it takes not to start crying again. 

"--he never deserved someone like you, Dean. So good, you're so good. Too good for Seth Rollins." And Dean grows still, even if Roman can feel little spots of hot moisture on his shirt, and he drags his lips in a lazy kiss on the man's forehead. "I swear to  _God_ I will kick his puny ass. I will end him,  _believe that_ , but right now baby boy? We gotta get some food in you and get you to bed. We got an early flight tomorrow."

 _Sniff._ "A f-flight?" the tremble sounds wrong, so wrong, in his voice, and Roman unwraps his arms from around him to grip his arms, hands warm and steady and blue locks with gray. "When did you book a flight? To where?"

Smiling, Roman wipes his thumb over Dean's eyes, rubbing away the tears and wishing he could wipe away the broken heart, too. The light-haired doesn't even hide the nuzzle against the Samoan's palm, not breaking eye contact, before his own lips pull into a tiny ghost of a smile at the other's words. 

"Back home, buddy. Mom and Pop miss us."

"Home? Florida?"

Roman almost leans in, almost lets their faces come close to each other to sweep a kiss against his friend's cheek, but instead ruffles his hair and delights in the way Dean's eyes close at the contact, like a dog being patted, his tongue lolling out slightly in much the same way. 

"Yeah, man. Florida."

...

**One Year Later**

...

The house, while small on the outside, was  _perfect_ for them, with blue siding -  _"C'mon, Rome, how often do you see bright blue siding? BRIGHT. BLUE!"_ \- and white shutters and a bright green door. There was a small deck in the front, perfect for a bench and not much else, but the backyard was bigger; perfect for Dean's garden, perfect for Roman's in-ground pool and plenty of room for their family to grow into.

Or not. They're in no rush. 

"Congratulations!" sang Roman's mother, wrapping her arms around the two men, standing between them and squeezing them tightly into her smaller body. "Your first house! Then comes fur-grandchildren and family cookouts and--"

" _Ma,_ " Roman sighs, cheeks a rosy hue, all thanks to the heat and not his growing embarrassment. A breeze blows through his long, dark ponytail, putting an end to  _that_ facade, and he steals a look over at his boyfriend, at the dazed look in his eyes as he stares at the keys in his hand. It pulls a smile to his lips, as if it needed much more effort anyway.

Mr. Reigns tugs Dean out of the gushing mother's grasp, ushering the younger man to show him the interior again, and blue meets gray for the first time since being handed the keys before he leads his father-in-spirit to the small porch and inside. 

Mrs. Reigns waits until they both are out of ear-shot before turning to her son, a serious look in her normally gentle eyes, lips stretched in a grin and body twitching in excitement. "Did you get it?"

Digging his hands into his basketball shorts, fingers instinctively wrapping around the black box, he nods his head. His mother suddenly has tears in her eyes, pulling him into a hug, before whispering "I always  _knew_ you two would end up together. You were always the better pair than Dean and that Seth Rollins. He's a better person because he met you, Roman."

His chest tightens and all he can do is nod dumbly, but really ...  _I want to be a better person because I met him. _And he means it. He means it with every part of himself before he feels his mother smack him on his lower back, pushing him toward the house as, simultaneously, his father walks out and waves Roman over. 

"You be good to my boy Dean, now," he rumbles playfully, trapping Roman in a bear hug. "Or I'll have to give you a retelling of the 'finger in the sandbox' story."

" _Pop!_ You're worse than Ma! Get outta here with that, go  _home_." 

They laugh, his father patting his son on the cheek before he joins his wife by their car, but Roman's on an important mission, too busy to notice, headed up the stairs of his and Dean's porch to  _their_ house, ignoring the slow way the older couple get into the car and cast happy glances before driving off. 

(It wasn't even that they lived that far away from the house he grew up in -  _they_ grew up in. It was,  _maybe,_ a five minute walk around a corner. A ten second drive if they were lazy enough.)

Closing the front door and breathing in, he pretends that the boxes stacked carefully inside the hallway and in the kitchen are unpacked, following the sound of a raspy humming until he finds Dean standing in their bedroom. Wrapping his arms around his small waist, he presses a kiss to the back of his boyfriend's shoulder and growls a little when the other presses wholly against him, back to chest.

"Home sweet home."

"Mm... not yet. Something's missing."

Quirking a brow over his shoulder, Dean's eyes slide to look at Roman, confusion and intrigue swimming in his baby-blues. "What're ya talkin' about?"

Unwrapping one of his arms and tucking it into his pocket, he pulls out the little black box and keeps it hidden from immediate view, pressing his fingers into Dean's hip before he feels the light-haired's fingers close around his own. "Rome?"

Pushing the box into Dean's other hand as it tries to seek his, Roman hums thoughtfully, resorting to kissing the skin of his boyfriend's neck and shoulder, pausing when he feels the muscles work as he brings the foreign object into his field of vision. 

A watery gasp - could a gasp be watery? Somehow, Dean made it possible, he was  _incredible_ sometimes - escapes the light-haired before he opens it and breathes something out, something Roman doesn't quite hear the first time. "Hm?"

"I said,  _you bastard._ " Digging his hand into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a similar-looking box, this one red to Roman's black, and gray eyes widen. "You beat me to it, you fuck."

And that night, their first night in their house in  _their bed_ , they whisper their answers so many times into the other's skin it's like the word is branded into their flesh; Dean's nails carve angry lines into Roman's back, and the latter gives all he's got, egged on by the sharp sting and his boyfriend -  _fiance's_ \- drawn out moans.

And when they're spent, Roman lying over Dean and kissing his face, he notices the shining trail of tears running down his face and he thinks he can stomach them this time, if the smile and laughter and slow kisses to his jugular are anything to go by. 

" _I love you so much,_ " Dean mumbles. Roman sighs.

"Always."

**Author's Note:**

> The story behind the 'finger in the sandbox' is that my father - I shit you not - used to threaten my and my sister's s/o's that if they ever hurt us or got us pregnant, the only thing anybody would ever find of them would be a butchered finger in a sandbox. You can only imagine my glee to use it to embarrass someone else, LOL.


End file.
